


Part V

by VeronikaLP



Series: You're In a Car With a Beautiful Boy [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: I repeat, I'm so happy you wouldn't even believe, Last part is fucking here, Last part is here, M/M, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:03:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronikaLP/pseuds/VeronikaLP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you won't tell the world that you love each other, but you do..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part V

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it is! The final piece to a roller coaster ride of emotions that made my life interesting for what feels like a long while.  
> It started out as a drabble and now it's a five-piece long posted work. I feel extremely proud of this, since it's the first work I've actually finished.  
> Thanks to all of you who left kudos and comments. You pushed me forward into finishing it, and giving this tiny universe an ending that I hope you find deserving to the story and to the characters.  
> BTW, the song Zayn sings in the balcony is Drops Of Jupiter by Train, in case you wanted to know.  
> As all the previous work done in this verse, this was inspired by Richard Siken.  
> It is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine only.  
> I obviously don't own them, because if I did, they would've already made their love canon, so, let's keep this tiny piece of fiction between you and I, yeah?  
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you won’t tell him that you love him _~~because you’re not entirely sure of anything related to him these days~~_ but you do.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; he’s following behind as you enter your flat. It’s cold, dusted, empty, and lifeless; ten months of absence making itself known on every surface. He drags the suitcases inside and closes the door gently, stopping himself in the middle of shedding his jacket. He looks at you for approval, and you only give him a small nod, because he’s here and you already let him in, so what’s the point?

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; you’re sitting next to him on the sofa, absently chewing on your pizza as the ball gets passed back and forth. Basketball isn’t nearly as fun as football, but it was the only good thing you found. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you don’t like the anxiety prickling under your skin again, after finally having it shed what seems a long time ago. Sooner than later, exhaustion from the trip gets to you, loud yawn stretching your mouth. He chuckles, a soft sound that reminds you he’s still here, and when you turn to look at him, there’s this hopeful look in his eyes _~~you wish you could stop knowing how his eyes look when they’re hopeful, happy, angry, or sad, but it’s the first thing you learned about him, before you even learned about himself, his background, who he truly is, so it’s a lost cause really~~_ and then you remember his suitcase, conveniently hovering behind him as you look over his shoulder; and you blame your slow thinking to jet lag _~~even when you’re only an hour and half away from Ireland~~_ and your brain still working on Irish mode _~~even when it’s been a couple of weeks since you left Mullingar to travel around England and catch up with your bandmates~~_.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; he’s coming out of the bathroom in loose pants hanging low on his hips and nothing else, except for the ink adorning his skin, and you force your eyes to look somewhere else before you start drooling and give yourself away. The crutches don’t let you go as fast as you’d want, but you still go with a level of grace that helps you hold on to the last thread of dignity you hold inside.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; he’s asleep on your couch, soft features and closed limbs, completely the opposite of Harry, who just sprawls, taking up the entire space. You stand there, basking in his beauty, feeling both mesmerized and like a total creep in equal measurement. You didn’t mean to, just going out of your room for some water to soothe your throat and get some morphine in your system since the pain on your knee is the thing that woke you up. After walking past him you couldn’t help but to stop and stare, feeling the pull he has over your mind and body since the first day you laid eyes on him, like a magnet.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you pat yourself on the back for not giving in and kissing him, for listening to the tiny voice in your head that reminds you the uncertainty hanging in the air and that you don’t even know his reasons for being here other than visiting you as a friend. You go straight into your room instead, bumping your toe against the corner of the wall leading to the hallway for not walking out with crutches _~~the noise would’ve been too much and you didn’t want to wake him~~_ but your hand still finds its way to his hair and ruffles it back from his forehead.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; he’s standing in your kitchen, wearing one of those tank tops with a low neck line that you love and hate for how it makes you feel, like melting on the inside. His hair is down, soft and disheveled, and you go back to that time in Japan, feeling your breath get caught in your throat the same way it did back then. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but he’s making pancakes, bacon and eggs on the side, hot coffee brewing on his left and a tea kettle on his right for good measure, because you don’t function properly without tea in the morning, and the lack of coffee has the same effect on him.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and it’s too early in the morning to feel like this, out of breath and marveled at his beauty, gaping at how he moves around your kitchen so easily, like he belongs there. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy who’s humming the guitar notes of a song you know too well. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy who softly sings _‘is it too much to ask for something great?’_ before turning around to place the hot plate of pancakes on the counter and noticing you’re there.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and while his smile still has the same effect on you, you feel yourself smiling back, your body working on its own accord like it does every time you’re around him. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you absently wonder if these tiny music moments are going to be an occurrence between you now.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and it turns out that they are. On the balcony while smoking a cigarette, on the kitchen counter as he sits and patiently waits for the lasagna to be done, while he takes a shower and while he shaves, on the cereal aisle at the supermarket on grocery shopping day; anywhere and everywhere, you find him humming songs under his breath, _~~songs that hold a meaning for you or that you relate to one way or the other~~_ , tapping his fingertips on every available surface. One time he does it against your thigh as you watch the Manchester United lose yet again, and it’s really hard to focus on anything else than the four points of warmth that seep through the thin cloth of your sweats. Your favorite one is when you come back from walking Ben and his wife to the elevator after their visit and find him sitting against the wall in the balcony, legs lazily folded in front of him, white smoke drifting off his lips as he sings _‘and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?’_.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but you quietly stand there, as you have been doing for days now, basking in his presence, being a witness of the small world that surrounds him, that he’s built for himself, that you were once in and would trade your life in order to be back if it didn’t mean you actually had to die because then you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it and that’s not the point _at all_. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you barely breathe so he doesn’t notice you’re once again standing there like a creep, and also because you can’t, because he’s harmonizing the _‘hey, hey, hey’_ in a raspy voice that twists your insides, and when he goes for the next part, you tell yourself that yes, this break and your trip back home was everything you wanted to find, except for the one thing that sits in front of you.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and wait until he’s done to make your presence known, as if you’re just arriving, to wish him a good night, and go to sleep with his replying smile burned behind your eyelids. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but you dream of him anyways; of his eyes and smile and his tongue pressing on the back of his teeth, of planets and stars and constellations, and so you go to Twitter next morning and let everyone know about the weird dreams you have.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you don’t find him when you come home one day after your doctor appointment and you’ve been officially released of your crutches. Meds and ice treatment are still a go, but at least now you can actually _walk_ , and it feels liberating, like a weight lifted off your back. You pick up your guitar in what seems ages, noticing how polished it looks, and then it hits you like a train; all the work he has done in the past days. Everywhere you look the surfaces shine with polish, the webs gone from the ceiling fan, your pantry and fridge are stock with food, even the carpet looks clean as a whistle, and you lose balance for a second and have to hold yourself against the wall because _holy fucking shit_.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but a thank you is in order, so you cook him the only dish your mom ever got through your thick skull. When it’s done it doesn’t taste quite as good as hers _~~because it’ll never do~~_ but it’s not bad either, and if he doesn’t like it, you hope the cupcakes are good enough, and they are, because you moaned around the one you took for testing, so you’re confident about that.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; he stops short on the threshold as he’s making his way in, and the first thing to come out of his mouth is _‘you’re not using crutches’_. You laugh and gesture him to take a seat, explaining all about your doctor appointment while serving dinner. Warm fingers wrap around your wrist when you place his plate on the table, and his eyes shine with that something you hadn’t seen in a really long time, so long ago it feels like another life. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’d miss the soft _‘thank you’_ that falls from his lips if you weren’t unashamedly staring at them, all sound blocked in exchange for the loud pumping of blood in your ears, heartbeat going along with it.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you can barely eat, far more focused on the way he does. The face he makes as he takes the first bite is one you file in your mind to remember for the rest of your life. The way his fingers move and curl around fork and knife spark something warm inside, resting low on your belly. It only gets warmer and harder to conceal when he takes a bite off a cupcake and makes the most sinful noise you’ve heard come out of his mouth. That same noise also takes you back to that another life.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; he’s on the balcony, sipping on a beer and taking another drag after _~~not really~~_ arguing with you how it was only fair he’d do the dishes after you made dinner, and such a good one, and you only push him towards the balcony, biting back the reply on how a simple dinner doesn’t compare to what he’s done for you these past weeks and through all the years you have known each other.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy; and when you turn around after you’re done, you find yourself cornered against the sink, his body warm and flush on yours. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but there’s that shine in his eyes again, and you realize that it doesn’t matter why he’s been here for days and weeks without an explanation, that you don’t really need one, because his eyes are telling you everything you need to know, and before he regrets making his move and takes a step back, you pull him by the neck and press your mouth on his.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but you’re drowning, falling without air into a pit that feels as dangerous as familiar. Your lungs complain after a while, but you don’t need air anyway, not when he’s here, not when you have him like this. He brokenly whispers your name, trying to break free from your grip, but you don’t let him, because you don’t want to hear how this is a mistake, how he has a fiancée back home and he’s only here as a friend, how he’s only keeping you company and cleaning up your house and cooking you food and taking care of you and being an all around amazing guy that was once yours and that now, by a twist of fate and bad decisions, you can’t have.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and he’s biting at your lower lip, causing you to groan and slip your grip, and that’s how he manages to break free. _‘Ni’_ , he whispers again, and it’s not fair of him to use your nickname when he’s about to break your heart again, for real this time, completely and beyond repair. You feel your eyes fill with tears that won’t come out until he’s gone.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and he’s shushing you as he smiles, and explains how it’s not that he wasn’t enjoying that, but that you should probably do that talk you both have been avoiding for over a year now, ever since he came back from that break not being himself. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but you let him drag you to your couch, taking the seat on your right. You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but you let him talk, silently taking it all in, and when things are finally out there and making sense you feel like slapping yourself in the forehead or call Louis to do it for you, because he knew, _he knew and never told you because it was not his place to do so_ , and his words on the whole musical week thing and how you were too blind to see it but eventually would come back to you.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re flying out of your skin, between this realm and the next, because he’s finally free, all yours for the taking if you wish, and next thing you know you’re on his lap, kissing away all the apologies and _‘I was such an idiot’_ to which you reply _‘yes, you were, and so was I’_ before sucking his tongue again because right now the last thing you want to do is talk.

You’re not in a car with a beautiful boy, but you melt under his merciless hands, his lips, his tongue, his cock. You can’t stop touching him and he doesn’t stop touching you, so you go for it on the couch, on the table, on the carpet floor, and on the kitchen counter. Every spot and surface in your house is marked, filled with memories of love bites, groans, and orgasms. After three days you’re absolutely spent and sore all over, so for the first time you both take a shower that doesn’t end up in come draining away along with soap and water, and sit on the couch for a Firefly marathon, because if he makes you this happy, it’s only fair you give some back to him. The break doesn’t last long though, because sooner than later it’s you taking control and watching him come apart under your hands, and you wonder why you didn’t try switching up before, back when you were teenagers in love, but it’s better this way because you get to live it _now_ , so you make it your personal goal to pull those noises out of him anytime you can, for the rest of your life if allowed, all while you watch his face reactions. He looks even more beautiful when he comes like this, an event you never thought possible.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and Louis notices first _~~because of course he does~~_ but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles knowingly at you, looking down to your intertwined hands before going back up. You know the moment of silence won’t last forever, so you enjoy it as much as you can. True enough, once you’re in the after party, he throws himself at you both, already drunk, gushing about how you’re both idiots, and how sickeningly cute you are together, and how perfect you are for each other but no more perfect than him and Harry are as a couple.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and Harry just grabs him by the shoulders, sighing a _‘finally!’_ while shaking him and leaving a sloppy kiss on his cheek. You turn around to see a faint shade of pink on his cheeks you’d love to kiss off and will do so later, even if the color isn’t there anymore, because now you understand that he wasn’t alone through all of it, that while you were with Louis he also had a companion that understood, and the butterflies in your stomach start fluttering again.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and Liam’s already half drunk when he hops in, and throws himself on top of you both once he notices, slurring a _‘I love you guys’_ and _‘it was about fucking time’_ and _‘I hope this means no more pining and drama on the next tour’_ and _‘I really fucking love you guys’_.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and here it is, your first time in public as a couple, and you know the protocol, even when you still hate it the same as you did all those years ago, but this time he doesn’t let go of your hand, struggling to get out of the car with his fingers still interlaced in yours but not losing his grip.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you won’t tell the world that you love him, because it’s not necessary, because there are endless pictures of the two of you holding hands on the red carpet for it to be obvious, because the fans have placed hashtags on trending topics worldwide and you still laugh when you remember, because the look in his eyes is enough, because he’s the only one that needs to know and the one you keep confirming it to on a daily basis.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he does.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re allowed to be in love with him, so you happily are.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you won’t tell him that you love him _~~with every cell in your body, every beat of your heart, and that you intend on proposing soon so this time it’s for the rest of your life with him by your side~~_ but you do.


End file.
